Prelude of Sandrock
by Michaela Will
Summary: Quatre is often considered the most unlikely of the pilots. But there are influnces in his life that lead him to take up his path with Sandrock. Preseries. Spoiler Warning.
1. Chapter 1

_Prelude of Sandrock_ by Michaela Wills

The pilot released his breath, taking a moment to calm himself, despite his shaking. His hand unconsciously loosened and clasped the throttle alternately. Eyes once again scanned the radar. He was safe.

For now.

Opening up one private line of communication, Quatre waited for the incoming message from Professor H. There would undoubtedly be one. And depending on the state of his family, there could very well be one from his father too. Nothing happened, and he redirected his attention to all the gauges and radar before him. Getting to Earth was not the kind of thing that Quatre trusted the autopilot to manage.

The speakers began to crackle. "Q. R. Winner, come in, Q. R. Winner. This is Instructor H." Deft fingers flipped the intercom switch, a red light blinking and static coming through.

"Hello Instructor! How's the colony? Did anyone notice my launch?" Quatre asked, first cheerily, then with concern. Anything could be happening. His father could be disowning him that very minute, yelling for lawyers to be brought in immediately. He could be planning to throw out Instructor H, or sending a squad of fighters to find the shuttle and bring it back.

"No, Quatre. Everything here is in order. Not a soul noticed your departure. I'm making arrangements to contact the Maganuac Corps. and pinpoint coordinates so you can meet them upon arrival. You do want to meet them upon arrival, correct?" Professor H intoned quietly.

Quatre smiled. "Yes I do. It would be great if you can locate them, please try." The professor made a noise equivalent to an affirmative. The blonde allowed his eyes to scan the metal in front of him, looking for anything out of place in the data he was receiving. No, everything was as it should be. "Instructor?" His voice came through timidly, even to his own ears.

"Yes, Quatre?"

"Did they find it yet? Do they know?"

The professor paused a moment, inadvertently letting Quatre's worries settle. His fingers hovered over the standard communication lines he had chose not to open before. "No. I've heard nothing. I believe they don't know yet." Quatre let loose a sigh. The note hadn't said much, but it would be enough to throw the Winner family into chaos for quite a while. There would be hell to pay when he next met with his father, there always was.

_Am I doing the right thing? Is my fighting for my beliefs enough? Can I really make a difference and protect them from the pain?_

The sounds of the shuttle drifted away.

A small boy, no older than five, pattered back and forth before the pair of white-wash doors. His bare feet sunk into the dark maroon carpeting, the edges of his navy trousers brushing the floor. A small cry of pain was heard from inside the room. The blond head whirled to face the door, body transfixed for the longest of seconds. He darted to the crease between the doors, aquamarine eyes peering inside.

The bedroom was large and spacious, a standard bedroom of the Winner home. The darker hues of the bed sheets and curtains contrasted the pale honey woodwork well and gave the room a warm aura. Quatre's eyes searched the room's occupants carefully. His father and two of his oldest sisters stood over the bed where Lorene sat, head propped up by large pillows, eyes sunk with fatigue. The doctor was standing up as he murmured something to the others. Quatre strained to hear, but the words escaped him. The doctor bowed slightly before taking his hat and walking towards the doors.

His aqua eyes widened as he scrambled away from the opening, hiding behind the open doors while the doctor turned the other way and left with preamble. The small blond head peaked from the doorframe, watching the retreat. Mouth drawn tightly, the serious little face turned back to the bedroom. Lorene was coughing.

Quatre flew inside and to the bed without hesitation. "Are you all right, Lorene?" Large blue-green eyes implored her from under sandy bangs. A soft smile escaped the ailing teen.

"I'll be fine, Catty, I promise. I'm just a little under the weather right now." Hazel-brown eyes gazed down on him lovingly, patting his soft head with the term of endearment. Quatre's mouth remained a rigid, worried mar to his face.

"Can I help? It hurts here, right?" The small boy asked, running a graceful finger along the front of his neck and to his chest. One of the older sisters started in surprise and the other narrowed her eyes. Lorene opened her mouth to answer, but was not fast enough to keep their father from raising his voice.

"Yes, Quatre. Her throat ails her. Now go and play, Boy. There is nothing you can do to help, but let her be." Quatre meekly nodded his head and walked slowly out of the room, blond head bowed.

Quatre felt the parch of the throat grow stronger as he walked down the hallway. He took the steps to the lower floor one at a time: one foot down, bring the other to meet it. One foot down, bring the other to meet it. A hand grasped the banister tightly and the other hung loosely. Stopping on the landing, Quatre swallowed, running his tongue around the inside of his mouth. Scampering down the rest of the stairs, Quatre headed for the kitchen.

The pale colors of the kitchen made the large room even larger, sunlight streaming in from the windows. Quatre stroked the calico cat sitting in patch of sun before dragging a stool across the room. Clambering on the beige counter, the small boy opened the cabinets and removed a glass pitcher and cup one at a time, setting each on the counter. The blond then carefully transferred the two items to the floor before pushing the stool to the sink.

His small pink tongue escaped his lips as Quatre leaned over the sink, fingers pushing at the faucet in vain. Pulling his stomach onto the counter, the boy managed to force the tap up and get a stream of water flowing. Added effort rewarded him with the tap turned all the way to 'cold' side. Quatre stood there for just a moment: small, but elegant fingers lingering under the thread of water. Darting away quickly, Quatre grasped the pitcher once more and held it two-handed under the spray of water, filling it about halfway.

Sitting on the stool, Quatre carefully poured a small amount of water into the glass and sipped a bit. The cool water washed down his throat, but the parched, heated feeling remained untouched. His mouth set in a determined line as Quatre stood on the stool once more, tipping the rest of the water in the glass down the sink. He balanced the cup over the narrow rim of the pitcher and picked it up with both hands again.

With unflappable determination, Quatre journeyed up the stairs once more, taking his time with each and every step. It seemed an eternity later that he turned the last corner to Lorene's room. His eyes were fixed between the glass pitcher in his grasp and the floor, every bit as cautious as before. His eyes caught the change in the color of the floor, from carpet to honey hardwood, and he lifted his eyes to Lorene's bed.

"QUATRE!" The hash cry assaulted his ears, starling the blond, his aqua eyes growing wide with a form of fright. His entire body jilted at the sound, loosening his grasp on the pitcher. It crashed into the floor, shattering with a resounding clatter. Droplets of water sprayed Quatre, creating midnight spots of color on navy pants. The glass didn't touch him, his small feet drew back of their own accord to avoid them.

"Weren't you told not to be here!" The voice continued. Quatre's eyes were unfocused, the voice came through harsh, without gender, without any care. "You need to learn to do as you're told, Quatre! Now get!" A firm hand turned his shoulders and shoved him out of the room. He bit on the inside of his lower lip. He'd just wanted to help.

The blond head shook harshly to end his thoughts. Quatre emitted a slight sound of discomfort at the memory, at all the memories. All the pain he had felt before he knew how to control it. And even the intense feelings that overwhelmed him despite his careful work; his family had never understood. They simply didn't know what it was like. They never tried to understand and never could.

The small boy sat on the dark colored wood of the chair quietly. He was seated before a large desk that he leaned over ever so slightly, aquamarine eyes intently fixed on the work sitting in front of him. His small fingers moved slowly over the feathers, carefully so not the jar the fragile bones inside. Breaking off the end of the bandage tape, Quatre rubbed the sticky end on the wooden post set against the bird's wing. His eyes filtered from the immobile, but inquisitive bird to the open book next to him, studying the page carefully before moving again.

The door to his room blasted open with a loud crack.

Quatre's fingers froze over the robin, held stiff and rigid in a cup shape around the small creature. His wide eyes turned to the door, waiting for the inevitable. His father stood stolidly in the doorway, gazing down on his blond son with a critical eye. An eye that fell on the robin nestled beneath Quatre's hands.

"Quatre! What are you doing?" the elder Winner exclaimed, marching over to the desk and extracting the bird from his son's hold. "You cannot take care of an injured animal! You're too young, Quatre! You could hurt the bird worse; you have no idea what you're doing! You shouldn't mess around with things you're not capable of, Quatre. Haven't I told you this before?" His father ranted, calling in a servant to take the small bird away between breaths.

Each word stung harshly, no matter they had all been said before. The tiny pain within him blossomed into a dull ache with each uttered phrase. All Quatre could do was hang his little blond head meekly and murmur.  
"Yes, Father. I'll do as you say." All the while the green-blue eye hiding their tears and anger behind sand colored hair. His lips concealing his tongue held tight between his teeth for fear of what else he might say.

"Good. Now see that you don't disobey me again Quatre. There are just some things that a boy of your age should not be involved with. You need to listen when I tell you that can't do such things." The elder strode out of the room, shutting the door securely behind him. All Quatre could do was stare at the smiling, happy directions in the book open before him. His small hands gripped the desk tightly in frustration. His voice reached the air, a tight, struggling whisper.

"You don't understand, Father. I have to. I need to. I can't take the feelings, and they're always there. I have to help, for me and for them. I can't help it! Why can't you understand? Don't you feel it too? How can you be so heartless, Father? When you feel pain, how can you let others alone like that? I don't understand you and you don't understand me."

Quatre's eyes glanced over the music staff again, the fingers of his left hand moving slowly on the strings, his right holding the bow limply at his side. He repeated the bars a few times with only his left hand and finally raised his right to join it. Both hands flickered over the wood and strings, drawing magic out of the violin slowly. The sound played over Quatre's ears, soothing them. Words melting away, eroding to the hums and echoes of his soul played out in melody. The world released its hold. Only Quatre, the violin and the music remained.

In the middle of the phrase, a feeling crawled over Quatre's senses, invading his sublime world. His hand tightened over the strings in response to the urge. He was extracted from the music forcefully. Slowly, Quatre was compelled to let his eyes to scan the garden where he'd set up his stand to practice. It was such a nice day that one could not help but feel joy of the sunshine, no matter if it was generated or not. He could hear chipper birds and the ventilation systems were turned down for the day, making a sunny, summery atmosphere. There was no one around, but the lurking feeling of discomfort settled over Quatre anyway. Something, somewhere was certainly out of place. The emotions swarming within were unmistakable.

"I may not be able to understand it or control it," the blond spoke softly aloud, "But I do know what that feeling is." Aqua eyes filled with concern and confusion, curiosity about to take over. The harsh memory of his father's voice pounded through his head. It had happened so many times. Shaking his head to clear it, the seven-year-old tried to return to the music, to that world of comfort and ease.

He began from the same spot, his fingers moving over the violin with care. The same notes and phrases, perfectly executed. The tempo unchanged. It all should have been the same, but the nagging of his heart refused to allow him refuge in the soul of the music. He couldn't return to that place.

The sandy-haired child took a few calming breaths, taking in the tranquillity of the summery afternoon once more. Relaxing his body, Quatre tried again to lose himself into this passion. And once again, failed. Frustrated, Quatre threw the bow to the ground, watching the wood snap in half on impact with the ground. He pursed his lips in a tight line, setting the violin in the lined case, shutting it with a determined snap. He didn't bother to pick up the bow, but snagged his music and stand on his way out of the garden. He tucked the stand under his small arm, shuffling the sheets of music one handed against his chest, his other fist clutching the handle of his case tightly.

"I need to know what's happening." He muttered quietly.

Following his senses, Quatre ended up outside of a large conference room. Leaning against the door, the boy tried to make sense of the sounds coming from within. He could pick out his father's voice easily, rising in volume slowly to ring above the rest. Quatre's emotions swarmed in response, becoming more and more turbulent.

The door flew open and Quatre stumbled back as his father marched out of the conference room, his sister Raisa flew outside a moment later. Quatre blinked at the sight before him. His father was . . . frustrated . . . with his associates? Raisa hovered near the Winner head, the soft tones of Raisa's soprano reaching Quatre's ears. Something was certainly, terribly wrong. Anger and frustration rang in Quatre's senses, an irking black mark that taunted him. Stepping forward a little, Quatre raised his voice.

"Father? Are you okay? Is something wrong?" The older pair turned to the small boy. The genuine, inquisitive eyes searching them.

"Go play, Quatre." His father sighed, "It doesn't concern you. Nothing is wrong. Go play." Quatre's eyes turned worried, settling on Raisa, almost hoping beyond hope that she'd disagree with their father. The twenty-two-year-old shook her head and shooed him away with a small hand motion.

The small blond just stood there. Watching the pair walk away, trying to ignore the nagging senses within him.

"Thanks for bringing me with you, Lorene. I really wanted to come into town today." Quatre chirped, swinging their clasped hands with childish abandon. Lorene smiled down on the younger Winner, grateful for the sweet moments like these with her brother.

"Well, Quatre, I'm glad you wanted to come. I was afraid you were getting too old to be seen in town with your sister." She grinned teasingly, despite the truth of the comment, mussing the blond tresses playfully. Quatre squeaked, letting go of her hand to self-consciously pat his hair back in place.

"Well," Quatre began, "I was afraid that you wouldn't want me along so you could spend time with that guy who came by last week." He smiled blissfully, only a hint of teasing in his voice, "What was his name? Oh, Namir I think." Quatre tilted his head, sending a knowing look towards his sister. Lorene blushed furiously.  
"It's okay, Lorene. I know you like him. He was nice and felt all right, so it's okay that he likes you too." Quatre continued, grasping the teen's hand and heading towards the open market. Lorene looked over her brother with astonishment.

"Felt all right, Quatre? What do you mean by that?" His brunette sister asked, an inquisitive, unsure look in her eyes. The blond turned his head to her with a smile.

"You know, the feeling you just get about other people. Like how they are on the inside, if they're good or if they're not sincere. I just sense he's okay, plus I think he really likes you." Quatre explained, "Oh! Can we go in here, Lorene, please! I wanted to get some new music! Please!" The boy's train of thought was totally obliterated at the sight of the music store. He tugged on Lorene's jacket lightly, as if to pull her into the store. Lorene nodded, seeming a little distracted by the maturity her nine-year-old brother had exhibited.

The inside of the store was fairly cool and Quatre quickly disappeared into the section with sheet music, riffling through the Chopin and Mozart with a practiced eye. His hazel-eyed companion watched the small boy shuffle through the selections. He finally pulled a Bruch Violin Concerto and hummed a few bars. Smiling, he tucked the selection under his arm and dove back into the folds of paper. The blue-eyed boy emerged ten minutes later with the Bruch's Concerto, a Bach Sonata and a full orchestra piece by John Williams. Lorene had done a little searching of her own and came up with a techno music disc to purchase as well.

They paid for the supplies and once again entered the warm sunshine of the early afternoon. Quatre's smile encased not only his face, but every fiber of his body. "I picked out the John Williams piece because it looked really interesting. There's so much in it! I'll probably transfer a few parts to violin, but I was thinking about trying the trumpet part as is. It'll be fun, even if I have limited experience on trumpet. The whole thing together must be really marvelous to hear!" He prattled, Lorene looking down on him with a small laugh and a smile of her own.

"I can't wait to hear you play it. But right now, we need to go to the shoe store. I want to get some sandals, okay?"

"Sure! Can I help you pick out a pair?"

"Of course!"

"IIIEeee!" The pair snapped their heads around to a storefront on the other side of the street. A woman stood, fighting off a lithe young man. The man was struggling to grab hold of her bag as the woman backed up to the glass window of the bakery. She swung at him violently, but it did nothing to deter him. The man had caught the strap of her purse and had yanked it free of her grasp. He turned and ran in a direction picked randomly; a path that would take him past the brunette teen and blond child.

Quatre finally got a good sense of the event and snapping himself from half-awareness he tore into a sprit towards the man. He took in the man's momentum and his direction quickly, his mind calculating, his feet angling at just the right place. He couldn't stop the man from running, but . . .

A hand reached out and grasped him. His momentum was immediately ruined and the man flew by them. Lorene's grip was unrelenting and Quatre's heart and chest blossomed into pain.

"Let go! I need to help! Lorene!" Quatre cried out, struggling against his sister's grasp. Lorene dropped to her knees, wrapping her arms tightly around him, fingers digging into the cloth of his shirt, pressing against his skin, unyielding to his protests. Slowly her voice invaded his world, a soft whisper against his hair.

"Quatre, you can't. You'd just get hurt. I don't want you to get hurt, Catty. You just are too little. You wouldn't be able to help. It's best if we stay out of the way. It's the only thing we can do. Please understand, Catty. Nothing can happen to you, you're too important. I know you want to help, but you can't! You need to take care of yourself to help others! Please understand."

Lorene's litany continued, but Quatre's attention was on the stout man who had caught the thief. The stout man who was capable of doing what he wanted to, need to, so very desperately, but was never allowed.

"Quatre! Answer me!"

The voice forced the pilot out of his memories. "Wha, what? Instructor?" The blond stuttered, shaken by the panic in his instructor's tone. His fingers flew over the controls, adjusting the wayward settings that had frightened the elder man so thoroughly.  
"Ev-everything is under control, Instructor. Sorry about that." Quatre gave the instructor a slight smile, trying to emit to him that he really was okay. Instructor H didn't seem completely convinced, but he relented with a sigh.

"It's fine, just pay attention, Quatre. I've got the communication frequency extended to its limit already. Once you're out of this sector, I won't be able to talk to you. You have to make it to Earth, because . . ."

"I know," Quatre cut him off, "We're breaking the perimeters of Operation Meteor with this flight. I'm likely to be the only person down there fighting the Federation and Oz." Quatre stopped, sinking into thought. A light beep to his right brought his eyes to a sector monitor. "Instructor H, I've reached the edge of the LaGrange 4 Sector. This is it."

"I'm sending you the likely coordinates where you should find the Maganuac Corps. If not, they will probably be in the surrounding area. Good luck, Quatre, over and out."

"Over and out." Quatre echoed softly, switching off all communications. He was on his own. He sat back in the pilot seat, looking out across the space before him. From his location the Earth was cut by an ellipse of darkness, sunlight streaming over half the planet. He ran his fingers across the controls, steadily checking his systems again. A light sigh escaped the blond's lips, the breathing of a word.

"Adri."

"Quatre! Quatre! Come out here!" The dark haired Winner called through the garden. He sighed, turning to a man standing beside him. "I apologize. Quatre is a good child, but he seems to constantly get himself into trouble." He paused, considering for a moment, "I trust you can handle that." The man nodded silently, taking this in.

The blond eleven-year-old allowed himself to be prodded out of his hiding place by one of his father's advisors. Even so, there was a reserve in his manner that was nearly palpable. He looked on the newcomer with eyes wide, taking in this person. He was young, perhaps in his twenties. Deep black hair with fly-away bangs and a short ponytail. His stance seemed to indicate confidence and self-assurance. He didn't look like Father's usual clients. There was more to this meeting. He allowed some of his reserve dropped away.

"Ah! There you are! Quatre, this is Adri Milap. Say hello, Quatre." The elder Winner instructed, in a tone that brooked little argument. Internally, Quatre sighed.

"Hello, sir. Pleasure to meet you." He said, stepping forward and offering his hand. Mr. Winner gave his son a look of smug pride. Quatre tried not to notice. This was what his father wanted. Did it matter if he didn't like this total formality?

Something in him clicked. Like someone was prodding him, looking for something. He narrowed his eyes, trying to locate the feeling, but it ended abruptly. "The pleasure's all mine. I'm certainly looking forward to teaching a student as bright as you, Quatre Winner." His hand was caught and Adri Milap shook it firmly. Quatre was totally unsettled now, his eyes everywhere, questioning.

"Teaching?" He asked, his brow wrinkling. He hadn't been told he would be taking any new lessons. Was his tutor being replaced?

"Yes Quatre. I've decided that you should learn the basics of mechanical operation. Mr. Milap is going to teach you to pilot, and perhaps some rudimentary skills in mechanical engineering. Although there should be no need for you to use the skills, living in space, one must be prepared, Quatre."

"Yes Father." Quatre tried to determine how he felt. Piloting? He'd never considered what piloting was like. He was just supposed to do as he was told, even if his feelings made him think he should do something else. Even if he knew there was a better way or a different road he wanted to take. If he followed instructions, he stayed out of trouble, and Quatre was tired of trouble. His father nodded to Milap and left, his advisors leaving Quatre and his new instructor alone.

He looked up to Adri Milap, noting the look of dissatisfaction on the man's face. "Mr. Milap?" He asked, questioning that odd look. His focus snapped from Mr. Winner's retreat to the blond before him. A quirk of a smile crossed his face.

"Adri, please. I'm not an old man yet. I see I have a lot to work on with you." He said gesturing with his hand toward the hangar. "And not just with the piloting." He added softly, meaning for the words to escape Quatre. They didn't.

Quatre followed, his curiosity piqued.

"QUATRE!" The simulation shut off abruptly. Quatre blinked in surprise as the door to the low lit cavity was thrown open. Adri hung his head inside, looking over the boy with an eagle eye.  
"What the hell was that?" He demanded as Quatre eased the harness off him.

"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again." The blond hair blocked his view, which was why he was so badly startled when Adri grasped his arm and dragged him bodily from the cockpit. His mouth fell open and untamed fury scorched his system. It was unlike any emotions he'd ever felt. His father's anger was nothing like this. Why was this man's anger affecting him so much?

Adri jerked Quatre to face him. "What was that? I don't want apologies, Quatre, I want the reason you did that! It was a simulation and you tried a maneuver that was far too advanced for your skill! You were this close to killing yourself and if it wasn't a simulation you would have scrambled your intestines from the pressure alone! Whatever possessed you? If you can't be sensible in a simulation, I can't expect you to be so for real!" He huffed, the sensations easing.

"I forgot it was a simulation: I reacted with my heart." Quatre's eyes were bright as he watched his feet, scuffling over the pavement. Adri stopped, fixing a curious look at the tow-haired child.

"Reacted . . . with your heart? Explain that." He looked up to the instructor's penetrating gaze, the sensation of being prodded crawled over him again.

"The objective was to keep the fighter away from the base. The base has people in it who are one my side, so I needed to protect them." Quatre answered, his voice hesitant as he explained the simulation. This was what Adri had told him moments before. "If I didn't, they would be hurt and I would feel it. I forgot it was a simulation and that there were no people to get hurt."

Adri's eyes grew wide. "You would feel it?" His eyes narrowed. Suddenly the sensation of being prodded increased. "What do you feel now?"

It was a demand not a question.

Aqua eyes met the dark brown. "Like I'm being looked in. Like a desk drawer someone is searching through." Their gazes held for a long moment after Quatre's timid statement. Adri collapsed to his knees before the child, then landed fully on the ground, one hand raised to his head.

"Good Lord! He's a newtype also!"

Quatre knelt down so he was at Adri's level. His brow was furrowed deeply. Newtype? What did that mean? "Sir? Are you okay?" Incredibly, Adri laughed.

"Quatre, I've never been better! Do you have any idea what abilities you have? I really do have more work here than teaching you to pilot! I have to train you with that uchuu no kokoro too!"

"My what?" The boy was now thoroughly confused.

Adri smiled, "You have the ability to feel what other people feel, right?" Quatre nodded, "That is called empathy. It's a special physic ability that some people have. Uchuu no kokoro is the name for it when the person is from outer space. It means 'Heart of the Universe' or 'Space Heart'."

"You mean, not everyone has it?"

"Yes, it's a special gift, Quatre, I have it too."

Quatre's eyes grew wider, he didn't know there were others like this. He never even realized he was special because of it.

"You do?"

Adri grinned at him, standing up and brushing off his slacks. "Yes. But my newtype ability, my physic gift, is different than yours. It's called telepathy, which means I can speak in other people's minds. I can sometimes understand what they are thinking too. That's what you felt before, I was trying to read your thoughts!"

continue


	2. Chapter 2

_Prelude of Sandrock_

"So do you understand now?" Adri Milap asked his smile reaching his eyes, shining in the dark depths. Quatre turned his thoughtful look on the instructor. They were sitting in the most secluded garden the pair could find. Inside the copse of trees it was shady and pleasant. Quatre played with the strips of grass entwined through his fingers.

"I think so, but I don't understand why I need to 'shield' myself."

"Well, Quatre," Adri began, pulling his dark hair loose and then combing it back to retie, bangs falling well into his eyes, "Right now, your skill is limited to people you are close to, both spatially and emotionally. When you develop empathic skill, you'll be able to pick up emotions of people who you aren't near and people you don't know as well personally. Too many emotions from other people can overwhelm you and keep you from being yourself and doing your own things. So to keep such things from happening, you have to shield yourself, to keep out some feelings. You'll still be able to use the skill, it's like . . ." Adri paused, trying to think of an appropriate simile, "It's like a radio. You set a radio to pick up certain frequencies and you don't pick up the others unless they're really strong."

Quatre tilted his head to the side, "I guess that makes sense. I think I know that. It's like when I feel something, I can concentrate on the feeling and make them stronger so I know what's going on. You want me to learn to do the opposite." Adri grinned at him, slapping his hand against his thigh.

"That's it, Quatre!" Adri leaned over and ruffled the blond's hair. "You're pretty quick, ya know." Quatre only smiled sheepishly. Adri sighed with contentment, taking a leaf off an overhead tree branch. "Now when I get back I'll make sure I keep prodding you. I want you to try and shield out my telepathy as much as possible. Okay?"

Quatre nodded. "You're leaving?"

Adri bowed his head once in answer. Looking down at the leaf in his hand, Adri began to strip the leaf apart, piece by piece. Quatre caught a sensation of strong feelings from Adri and began to slowly filter them out. He didn't like practicing this technique, he much rather focus on the sensation and try to draw in what the emotion was, but apparently, he'd had enough practice at that and need to develop this one.

"Quatre," He looked up, Adri still had his head bowed at the leaf stem, "What do you think about the colonies?"

"The colonies? What about them?" Adri Milap pulled another leaf off the tree and began to strip it vehemently.

"About how we are controlled by the Alliance. How there is no communication between colonies. How the colonies are kept from making their own choices about the lives of their citizens. How the leader Heero Yuy is not in the history books that you are taught from."

Quatre's brow furrowed. "Heero Yuy? I've never heard of him."

Adri sighed, "Look him up. He is the best kept secret from the youth of our society, but I remember. I met him, just once, when I was very young." Quatre settled back against a tree, watching Milap with a quiet intensity. The dark eyes gazed out from under dark hair, before a feral smile grew over his lips. "Heero Yuy was the pacifist leader of the colonies in 175 AC. He was assassinated and the murderer was never found. Some believe that the Alliance was behind the murder, because Heero Yuy would have destroyed their control over the colonies. Ever since then, there has been no communication between the colonies, to keep another Heero Yuy from appearing out of space's masses. He united the colonies in a single goal of establishing peace." Adri plucked a new leaf to strip down.

"The Alliance has deleted as much information about Heero Yuy as possible from the people's lives. They say it's to avoid upsetting people with the misfortunes of history, but it's just another method of control. They don't want people to know about Yuy because they don't want rebels like me standing up for Yuy's beliefs. Standing up for Yuy's beliefs and more importantly; Taking action."

"Rebels like you?" Quatre's eyes met Adri's dark ones again. "I thought that you were a pilot and engineer. Not to mention just out of training yourself." Adri's feral smile returned.

"Yes, Quatre. I am still rather young and I am a pilot and engineer. But I do what I can to help the people. Not just here on your colony, but on all the colonies. I teach, so that I get a chance to meet with young people like you and tell them what I know. Tell them the truth about our shared past." Adri's eyes glittered with passion and power, the feelings Quatre began to receive were strong and intense. "I'm leaving for a few days to do what I do best. I pilot supplies from this colony to other nearby colonies. But while I'm doing that, I take letters back and forth from each colony that I visit. People are not allowed to communicate between the colonies in a traditional sense, so I make it possible for families and businesses to find out how each other is doing. It's a small thing, but it can get me into a great deal of trouble none the less."

"Why did you tell me all of this?" Quatre asked a few moments later as Adri Milap stood. He looked down on the small blond.

"I trust you to know the right thing to do. What's right and wrong isn't dictated by the Alliance or your father, Quatre. The only one who can decide what is right for you is you. I trust you and I believe that you already know what 'right' is in your heart. I trust that heart, Quatre, you should too."

Adri walked away without another word. Quatre remained seated, unblinking as he absorbed the pilot's words. Trust. Right. Wrong. Trust, that word was something new. Why had he used the word trust? He was just a little boy and . . . . 'right and wrong isn't dictated by the Alliance or your father' Not by his father.

By him.

Quatre's face suddenly lit up. Adri was right and he was right. His father's right could be his wrong. It was all a matter of perception.

"This is Command calling Pilot 1. Come in Pilot 1." The voice came out rough and brassy over the speakers, but Quatre recognized it immediately. His face, previously contorted in fierce concentration, softened to a smile.

"Pilot 1 here! Ready for instructions!" Quatre said uploading his data on the assigned simulations. There was a pause while the data was received and Adri looked over the readings.

"What the? These say you finished the simulation section five days ago! What are you doing in there?"

"Father has an hour blocked into my schedule for simulation. I knew he wouldn't believe me if I told him I'd finished the assignments, so I've just been in here."

Adri snorted, "Well, get your butt out of the cockpit! Do you have any idea how excellent these results are? You're a natural, kid!"

Quatre hopped down the two-foot drop. "Really? I'm a natural?" Adri threw his head back and laughed. Grinning impishly at the approaching boy, he threw an arm over Quatre's shoulder.

"You don't know the half of it! These readings are crazy off the charts for a beginner, especially your tactical maneuvers. Have you studied this stuff before?" Adri watch as Quatre's brow knitted up and he shrugged, "Not in a formal sense, huh? Well then, you just have awesome tactical skills. We'll develop those, you'll be unstoppable. We'll work on the mechanics of actual operation and a little mechanical engineering on the side. If I do my job right, by 15 you're going to be an expert pilot. Oh, and how are your other studies coming?"

Quatre's features were suddenly screwed into tight concentration. The angle of his left brow intimated there was something that wasn't right in this area of study. "Father. I simply cannot shield myself from him. His anger, it is intense and near painful, and sometimes I really want it away from me, but I can't keep it out." His fingers were knit into the pages of his book, clutching the binding tightly. Adri's eyes slid to the binding. It was a book on the basics of genetic engineering. He met the perplexed aqua eyes again and offered a wry smile.

"There will always be exceptions to the rules, Quatre. People who are very important to you are most usually the exceptions. It can work the way you experience it now, where you can't keep them out, or it can work in the opposite, when you can't read them however hard you try. You simply will need to learn to cope with the unavoidable effects of these people. And I can assure you, your father will not be the last one that will be immune to your empathic power."

Amazingly, Quatre smiled, "Thank you Adri. I feel much better. I though that something was really wrong with me, since I couldn't shield myself from him. It always makes me feel wrong, that I can't do things right." Pangs of guilt ran through his system. Regret and anguish. He was worthless, replaceable and always doing things wrong. Why didn't his father just make a new heir? He always found fault in Quatre, what could be easier than altering the genes from his embryo slightly and creating a better son?

Adri put a hand on his shoulder, breaking his reverie. Stunned turquoise eyes questioned dark colorless ones. "You, Quatre Winner, are far from worthless. You are one of the most skilled and genuine people I have ever met. I have heard you play, you are a gifted musician and you're extremely intelligent. Most students take weeks to learn what you have in the twelve days I've been gone. Your strategic skills are unparalleled. That is a sign of ingenuity and extreme mental prowess. I've spoken with your fencing instructor and he tells me the same things. You're not worthless."

Quatre gazed up at Adri blankly and suddenly, the man's voice filled his head again, without his ears. You are important, and before I leave here I am going to do my best to make you understand: You aren't worthless as you have learned to believe. Not worthless at all and not replaceable. Not to me or anyone else who you are important to.

"Sorry I'm late, Ms. Martin. I was finishing up a lesson with Mr. Milap and it took longer than we had anticipated." Quatre panted as he made his way into the room set aside for his tutoring sessions. The severe, dark-toned woman looked up from her desk and snorted elegantly. Her voice was dry and harsh.

"I'm sure, Quatre. See that you're on time this afternoon. You've been wasting far too much of my time gallivanting off with that pilot." Ms. Martin scoffed as she berated her student.

It had been a year since the man; Adri Milap had invaded the Winner home. In all her years tutoring the Winner children, she had never seen such a drastic change in her students for the existence of another person. Quatre had always worn a meek and reserved facade after the tender age of four. Yet in the year since Milap's arrival the Winner heir had begun to change drastically. He wasn't as moody or reserved and now went out of his way to be friendly with other people, instead of simply polite. It was obvious to the entire household he adored Adri Milap and truly looked up to the man. The pilot and engineer had coaxed out a playful, loving and genuine side of Quatre that had not been completely buried, but had been repressed over the years. The colony was better for the change in its heir, but for the current Winner head, the adoration his son had for Milap, well, no one knew what effect it had on him.

"Did you finish your essay? Pacifism is an important tool of this colony and I hope you did the subject justice." Helen Martin watched Quatre bite on his lower lip nervously before answering.

"I did, but I don't believe that what I wrote is what you would like to hear, Ms. Martin."

"What do you mean by that? Explain yourself."

"Well, you told me to write how I feel towards pacifism within the colonies. I believe that I understand the concept and how it is used currently and under the circumstances of the colonies that we have discussed, I'm incline to disagree with the method of pacifism within the colonies presently. For twenty years the colonies have been using pacifism and it has yet to produce results. I feel the time for more aggressive forms of resistance may now be necessary. What use is any method of resistance if we get no results from it?" He paused a moment. "I understand the virtues of pacifism and agree with its use. I just feel the current circumstances of the colonies require more."

Ms. Martin sat there, staring at the unblinking child for a moment. Pacifism was the way of the world around him in every sense. Where did such a wild idea ever enter his head? "Pacifism," She began in countering, "Is the only means that the colonies can use. We are without weapons and under the Alliance's control; Military supplements are not available. There is no other way."

Quatre shook his head, looking his teacher right in the eyes. "I don't agree. There are ways to retaliate, ways that do not involve terrorism and are the aggressive extension of pacifism. The best way to describe the pacifism of the colonies is inaction. The time for inaction is over. We need to make our desires visible."

Helen Martin slammed her palms on her desk as she stood, glaring at Quatre openly. "Who put these ideas into your head! Aggression will only lead to trou---ble." Realization dawned onto her face, "It was that pilot wasn't it! He's been filling your head with ideas. I knew he couldn't be the perfect instructor he seemed. Always interested in your studies and then stuffing your head with impossible alternatives!"

"NO!" Quatre cried out, "It's not like that! He tells me how he feels. I just happen to agree with Adri. He tells me things and he lets me make my own choices based on the circumstances and options! He teaches me to think analytically. It's not what you think!"

Ms. Martin snorted at Quatre. "Stay here! I'll be back. I believe I need to speak with your father on these issues." She stormed out of the classroom, locking Quatre in behind her. He pulled at the doorknob and pounded on the wooden barricade for a few moments, crying out incoherently.

"No . . .please . . . not my father . . . Adri will get in trouble . . . please, no . . ." Quatre whimpered, sliding to the floor. He wrapped his arms around himself tightly, beginning to feel. He hurt, not outside, but inside and the ache grew. Adri would be fired for sure. His father was a strict pacifist and since he trusted Ms. Martin's opinion and Adri was little more than a newcomer his father would fire him on such a word from Ms. Martin without even asking Milap. A choked sob escaped him, his he bowed slightly. It wasn't fair. His entire life was controlled by others opinions. Finally Adri was teaching him to think and feel for himself and now Adri would be taken away. He just knew it!

He began shivering; his eyes were bright with tears. Desperately, Quatre tried to push together a shield. His father would surely be angry and though his father would burst through any shielding, he needed to try. At the very least, he'd have to keep others from feeling his pain. It wouldn't be fair.

Though 'fair' was a word that Quatre had learned to hate with a passion.

Fire and ice consumed him. Storms of anger boiled in moment only to be washed away by floods of self pity and contempt. He remained in turmoil. Time grew slow, sped fast, disappeared and then returned to taunt him. His fire was quenched by sadness and exhaustion overtook him.

When the door reopened it was his father. Mr. Winner looked down on his spent child. He spoke slowly, anger held with tension in his voice.

"Mr. Milap has been released. He has chosen to leave tonight. You may go and give him your regards." He turned heel and stomped out quickly.

Quatre sniffed one last time and brushed away his tear stained eyes with the heel of his hands. Standing, he wobbled on unsteady, rubbery limbs. Grasping the edge of a table, Quatre held himself still until his legs regained feeling. With heart broken weight, the blond left the study room. How he ever reached Milap's quarters was beyond him, but it hardly mattered. He pressed his hands against his face briefly and shook his bangs out of his eyes before knocking.

Adri opened the door with a quiet smile and led Quatre in. He gestured to the bed before turning back to his suitcase. Quatre sat and just watched for a few moments before his abused vocal chords moved of their own accord.

"I'm sorry." He whispered hoarsely. Adri stopped and looked up at Quatre.

"It is not your fault, Quatre. Your father was bound to find out about my activities eventually and that would have certainly got me released far faster than this. But the fact they have allowed you to believe you are at fault is inexcusable. I made my choices. I could have told your father I was a pacifist also and kept this job. But I want you to learn and grow too. Lying like that wouldn't be right. I need to stand up for my beliefs, just like you were strong enough to do."

He paused for a moment, turning away and pulling some books off of his shelves. He opened the top book: a hardbound book with a dark blue color. Taking a pen from its pocket home, Adri wrote something on the inside of the cover page. Finishing, he closed the book and gave the pile of volumes to Quatre, setting them in his lap. He knelt beside the bed.

"I knew this day would come and these are for you. I don't know how long it will be before your father replaces me with a new instructor, so in the meantime, you can learn from these books. That is, if you choose to continue studying what I've taught you. You have every choice in the world, Quatre. No one can take those from you but yourself. Remember to believe in yourself. You're gifted, in many, many ways. And it could be a long time before I ever meet anyone with as much to offer as you. It could be an equally long time before you find any other people who are newtypes. Remember to shield yourself. Don't forget there will be others like myself and like your father. Other newtypes are rare. As rare as people immune to your gifts." Quatre's eyes watered over again and he pulled Adri into a tight, desperate hug. No more words were spoken between them and the air.

_Don't apologize to me or to yourself, Quatre. Be yourself. Live your life; Don't let others be your choices. You have every choice in the world. Find the one that is right for you. Your father and the Alliance don't dictate right and wrong. Do what you can and do what you feel. Don't be afraid, Quatre, trust in your uchuu no kokoro. I do._

_I will, Adri. Thank you. Thank you for being my friend! I won't allow you to be forgotten!_

Quatre released a harsh breath. Adri Milap had led him through one of the toughest phases of his life only to be torn away. That rip was the catalyst in a series of events that had lead him here and to Sandrock, to leaving home for his beliefs. For his own right. . . . He looked into the vastness of space he loved so dearly; the space that Adri had fought for and the space that he would now fight for as well. He spoke softly.

"Adri, look at me. I listened, I haven't forgotten. I'm still here, still learning and finding my own right path. I'm doing what I believe in. I wish you could be here . . . I wish . . ." Quatre voice wavered as he changed his course ever so slightly, "I wish you had survived."

A cry of shock and horror escaped the boy as his eyes flew open. His body shook and jilted as he was thrown into a stunned wakefulness. He breathed deeply, unable to catch his breath. He went through the motions of rising from a nightmare when none plagued him. Quatre slowed his breathing and pulled the wild, incoherent feelings into himself.

He forced a calm over himself. He sat in his bed in the center of his room, the place darkened with night. The very dead of night. Slowly, almost unsure, Quatre patted his face and neck, finding himself drenched in perspiration. Something was happening, he felt it in the very deepest part of his heart, and here he was: in bed, safe at home. Very, very safe.

A shudder crashed through him. Aqua eyes became wide, immobile and unfocused. Pain tore through him, ripped him open, burned through flesh and bone equally. He was but a paper doll to the pain that tore through him. It was not his own either. Someone important was in excruciating pain, they simply had to be for pain to strike him this strong.

He found himself hyperventilating, his own panic and fear tossing into the mix of distressingly turbulent emotions. His arms were wound tightly around his stomach as the young blond tried to calm the emotions, raging, searing, tearing pain shot through his system.

It stopped.

No explanation or cause, the agony tearing through him simply ended. Wide, shocked eyes darted around the room, expecting . . . something. At least, more than the emptiness he suddenly found himself in. He felt abnormally empty.

Quatre gripped his blankets in half fright. This was new; he'd never felt this emptiness, this void before. Crawling out of bed, Quatre slipped through his room to the bookshelves. The shelf was tucked into a corner of the room, but there was enough space between the wooden unit and the wall to fit one, well sized book. From this niche, Quatre pulled the blue hardcover book from his mentor.

The book was actually a diary of the things Adri had learned in his own training, everything written out simply, legibly and in an organized fashion. Some areas were vocabulary and others marked the significance of different objects. The very back was a record of a number of Adri's own experiments and experiences.

Sitting in bed, Quatre turned on a small light from the nightstand, flipping through the book for something to explain the emptiness he was suddenly plagued by. Something within him brought the blond to leave the book open to one page in particular as he slowly began to read the text. Shivers returned, racing through him at an increasingly more frantic pace.

_DEATH: Always marked by a feeling of loss. Can be preceded by intense emotions, usually panic, fear, anger and pain. The more violent the death, the stronger both the emotions preceding death and the feeling of loss afterward. Has the power to flood newtypes, most particularly empaths, and cause unconsciousness if the sensation is very acute. NOTE : Very good reason for constant shielding, all newtypes are more susceptible to feeling the effects of a death, not just empaths._

Quatre allowed the book to slip off his lap as he turned back to seriously hyperventilating. Trying to calm the feeling, the blue-eyed boy dropped his head down to his legs and concentrated on breathing. Someone important had died. Something wasn't simply wrong; someone was gone. But who? Who was dead? It had to be important. Was his father dead? Could that be it? Was his father dead?

Curiosity began to overshadow panic and the young boy regained control of his breath. The blond crept into the hall of shadows, making his way to the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Tiptoeing through the soft carpet, Quatre's heart pounded in his ears. Stealth formerly unknown to him allowed the child of twelve to slide silently into his father's room.

The man in question laid in silent, unmoving slumber. Quatre was fairly shaken by the stillness of the dark room, the shadows becoming larger and more fearsome before his eyes. He stole to the bedside, watching his father's even breathing. A feeling of relief washed over him, soothing his anxious nerves. His delicate hand touched pliant, warm skin, finding a strong pulse. The boy let loose a sigh before creeping back to his own room. All other questions eroded from his mind in the face of the exhaustion he now felt. Sliding between the sheets, Quatre almost immediately returned to slumber.

Quatre tightened his grip and leaned all of his body weight into tipping the rapier towards his opponent. His eyes were steadfastly locked on those gray ones before him. The angle of the blades changed slightly, bringing the pair hilt-to-hilt, locked in a contest of pure strength. Quatre kept his gaze hard and unyielding to his older opponent, keeping his full weight on the locked weapons. His stance was open and loose and his free hand kept him from losing balance.

The rapiers disengaged each other and the young blonde fought his body to keep from staggering. He lowered himself slightly to center himself, bringing his free hand up to join his other, keeping only the one on the metal.

His instructor thrust back in, engaging Quatre again. Instead of locking them together the young blond twisted the blades against each other in a tight arc, intending to wrench the weapon from the other's hand. The elder countered the move, lifting up the rapier and turning with it, bringing himself to where Quatre had been. The lithe boy had caught the tactic early on in the execution and matched the move.

The other blade broke away from his own and immediately returned, forcing Quatre against a wall. He thrust again and the trapped youth deflected the motion. The tip of the rapier touched the wall, the thin metal bending before the other could retract the blade. In the seconds that the rapier touched the wall, Quatre scampered out of the way, thrusting at his instructor, forcing him to jump back out of the blade's reach.

The pair continued to spar, each countering the other fluidly and easily. It was usual to engage in verbal banter during such fighting, but the only sounds were metal on metal. The young apprentice avoided speech for the sake of concentration; the elder avoided it in respect for the opponent's need of that engrossment. They continued in the intricate, unchoreographed dance, the touch of the rapiers their music. In and out the pair thrust and countered each other in turn, their movements the elegant parody of the art of deadly war. It wasn't much longer before the elder tapped the tip of his rapier to a small shoulder to end the match.

Almost gratefully, Quatre removed his mask and brushed his damp bangs from his eyes. Taking a drink of water, he looked up for his instructor to hear his take on the match and continue the lesson on the areas he felt Quatre needed improvement. He found the graying Cyrus Bane at the door speaking with the steward. Seeing this, Quatre snapped on the radio. Bane and the steward would easily talk away the rest of Quatre's lesson if he let them.

**. . . In more local news, a group of Alliance Rebels avoiding space control were caught last night. They were found leaving the L4 cluster and claimed to be carrying cargo to the L3 cluster by way of a newly labeled No-fly zone. Number 004320. A unit of Space Leos found the two ships and after confirming the identity opened fire to force the Rebels into surrender. The Rebels surrendered after the second ship was severely damaged. There were loses on both sides, but minimal. The deceased are as follows: Bryce Lo-wind - Alliance cadet; Zeke Orlando - Alliance Cadet; Adri Milap - Rebel; Jethro Kahn - Rebel; Haven Guthrie - Rebel . . .**

Quatre stopped listening, he stopped thinking, moving or breathing. The beats of his heart pounded in his ears. Adri was dead? It couldn't be possible, he'd only left two weeks before. He couldn't be dead. Suddenly Quatre threw his senses in all directions, searching for Milap's strong sensations. They couldn't be found.

His breath became ragged and unsteady. That was who he'd felt die. Adri Milap was dead. He was dead. The words echoed through Quatre's mind, echoing the painful words, twisting and contorting him in agony. Unable to handle the realization, Quatre fled the room, crashing past Bane and the steward. He barely heard his teacher yelling at him to come back. He ran blindly.

Adri couldn't be dead, he simply couldn't. Worn out, Quatre dropped to the ground, only able to make out the vague outline of green and brown around him through watering eyes. He knew where he was anyhow, his secret corner of the garden. No one would find him here and Quatre began to sob in abandonment. He didn't want to believe it, but everything in his heart said it was true. Tears cascaded down his face as he mourned the loss of his best friend and mentor. The world reduced to his heartbeat, repeating over and over the same phrase.

Adri was dead . . . Adri was dead . . . Adri was dead . . .

Adri Milap had been dead three years. His death had thrown Quatre into a world of pessimistic self-torture and deep depression. Quatre was already walking a tightrope of insecurity before his death, it was simply the last straw. The death was a catalyst of immense proportions.

It was not much later before he'd run into the Maguanac Corp. and Instructor H. The two parties managed to undo some of the damage of Adri's death. They both pushed him as his mentor had pushed him. They gave him self-value, self-confidence and most importantly: Pride.

Quatre closed his eyes and recalled the moments of battle inside the Maguanac Mobile Suit he'd borrowed from Rashid. Using everything that Adri had taught him and flying that suit had been a thrilling moment for him. It suddenly made all that Adri had told him of his own skill real. Every word of praise that Adri had ever given him suddenly became more than simply words of encouragement. They made him believe in himself. Adri was right and the Maguanacs were right. He needed to develop pride in himself.

That was what he did over the last three years. With Instructor H's help, Quatre's Sandrock had been created and he would be able to do as Adri had done.

Adri had once told him he rebelled by way of transporting mail because it was what he could do. He'd once told Quatre that there would be things that he could do also. This was what Quatre could and would do. He would fight as Adri Milap had taught him with a special Gundanium Mobile Suit made for him. It was the most he was capable of for his cause. He would give no less.

Breaching the edge of the Earth's atmosphere, Quatre toyed with the controls, adjusting the angle of his entry. The pressure rose and Quatre's heartbeat rose in demand. This moment is it.

He passed through the upper layers of stratosphere and his world calmed. The blond pulled up the ship's radar, Quatre scanned for the coordinates Instructor H had so recently given him for the Maguanac Corp. Opening a visual feed Quatre's aqua eye met a world of golden sand, crystal blue water, verdant greenery and endless horizons. He found himself breathless at so great a view of his ancestral home and yet understood so little of it all at once. The magnitude of its beauty astonished him. For some strange reason, his hand strayed from the controls to the case at his side. Fingers ran across the scared violin case.

"This," He found his own hushed voice reaching his ears, "Is the beginning of everything." In his mind, he found himself adding to the statement. _The beginning of everything and the end of nothing._

Quatre took destiny into his hands, preparing to land his craft and begin anew.

All that came before was only the introduction to the song. He stood, playing the very tentative first lines of the tune's theme. The song was changing and his life even more so. He imagined those first steps on the Earth's surface that he was so close to taking. Yes, this was the real beginning for him, for his purpose. Everything before wasn't the melody or overture of the songs in his heart and life. What had been was only the prelude. This would be his melody and his song.

The song of freedom.


End file.
